


The Troublesome Reign and Triumphant Victory of Arthur Pendragon, Professor of History

by ms_worplesdon



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-29
Updated: 2013-11-29
Packaged: 2018-01-02 22:24:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,616
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1062343
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ms_worplesdon/pseuds/ms_worplesdon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arthur Pendragon heads the School of Classics at the prestigious University of Camelot. His life is turned upside down when his chancellor father assigns him a new doctoral candidate from the newly quashed Queer Studies program.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Troublesome Reign and Triumphant Victory of Arthur Pendragon, Professor of History

**Author's Note:**

  * For [PuckB](https://archiveofourown.org/users/PuckB/gifts).



> For PuckB. Puckboum, you gave me a delicious wild card, and I ran with it. I really, really, really hope you like this! It's kinda nerdy, yeah, but I couldn't help myself. Merry happy!
> 
> Note: The university structure is an amalgam of Oxford, St Andrews, and a very old American university. Divided into six schools, each has a dean. Gaius is dean of medicine, Kilgarrah classics, Godwyn public policy, Annis arts, Geoffrey science and math, and Nimueh social sciences. What would be tenure in North America is an academic chair at University of Camelot.

“Sod this.”

Arthur Pendragon stared at his laptop in the vain hope that it might disintegrate. He was a history professor, for fuck’s sake. He couldn’t control his father any more than anyone else could. There was no call for people to act like he was the one responsible for the mess.

“Alright there?” Leon asked from the doorway.

Arthur looked up with a start.

“What? Fine, yes.” He sighed. “I suppose you’ve heard about the departmental cuts?”

Leon gave a sympathetic grimace.

“Driving you mad already, eh?”

“My inbox is flooded. Flooded! I even have _paper letters_. Which, I mean, that’s great. It’s lovely that people still take time to put their thoughts down on paper, but…Christ.”

“Well, if it makes you feel any better, your dad’s shuffling the chaired professors into other departments.”

Arthur heaved a sigh.

“It does a bit, yes.”

“Then you’ll be pleased to have Gwaine back!” Leon called as he rushed away.

“Bugger.”

***

He found his girlfriend, Vivian, on their living room floor being fucked by the Sacred Grounds barrista with the weird piercings. He had her on all fours and was ploughing into her so intently that neither of them noticed at first that Arthur was even standing there.  
  
“Afternoon,” he said quietly.  
  
They both stopped what they were doing and looked up. Her mouth formed a perfect circle.  
  
“Get _off_ me, Roger,” Vivian huffed, extricating herself from the tattooed monstrosity pinning her down.

Arthur picked his keys back up off the console table and reached for his briefcase.

“Arthur, _wait_.”

He didn’t bother looking back.

***

The only place Arthur could think to go was to Gaius’s. The dean of medicine lived in one of the University of Camelot’s prestigious pavilions, though why they were considered prestigious anymore was a mystery to Arthur. One of the reasons he loved history so much was because it was the _past_. Inventions like effective central heating were marvelous things to be appreciated.

Nevertheless, Gaius was a gracious host.

“You can stay here as long as you like, of course. I’ve cleaned up my nephew’s old room for you. And I have a stew on for supper.”

"Thanks so much, Gaius,” he said gratefully.

"Yes, well. I imagine it’s been rather a rough week for you.”

“That’s putting it mildly,” Arthur agreed.

“I’d always thought your father would make a good chancellor,” Gaius observed with a small frown.

“He was a better dean,” Arthur replied sullenly.

“Last spring, just after he was appointed, he took the deans out. All six of us. The vision he laid out certainly didn’t include cutting an entire school. I’ve always known he never liked Nimueh, but I didn’t think he’d go so far as to do something like this.”

“I don’t know what’s gotten into him,” Arthur groaned. “I mean, of all the things to get rid of in this day and age, he guts the social sciences?”

“He considers them onanistic tosh,” he replied apologetically.

“He honestly thinks that cultural anthropology is pointless. And he thinks philosophy ends with the Germans. Everything that’s not peripherally to do with politics is getting shoved over to Classics.”

“Yes,” Gaius agreed. “Psychology I can accept being pushed into my school, but sociology certainly doesn’t belong there. Where else can you put a social science but _social sciences?_ ”

“Right?”

“I expect you’ve received quite a number of complaints about queer studies?”

Arthur shrugged.

“Yeah, but that one really was a load of crap, let’s be honest.”

Gaius tutted his disapproval, then stood, looking at Arthur thoughtfully.

“Follow me,” he said.  
  
He led them both down to the kitchen, where he poured them each a perfectly nasty whisky.  
  
“Tell me what really happened,” he said, motioning for Arthur to sit across from him. Arthur was nonplussed.  
  
“I was under the impression that I had.”  
  
Gaius fixed him with a hard stare.

“Not the part where you tell me what broke this one’s back.”  
  
“What’s back?” Arthur asked, confused.  
  
“Well, the camel. Obviously.”  
  
Arthur downed the weird potion of a drink in one go and felt the fight leave him.

“I came home and found Viv with that repulsive barrista with the nose thing. You know, the one who calls himself Cock Trickler or something.”

“Yes,” Gaius agreed, voice thick with disapproval.

“Our sex life was...pretty much non-existent. That probably had something to do with why she was fucking Mister Coffee.”

“And?”

“I’m moving out.”

“Just like that?”  
  
“Well, what was I supposed to do?”  
  
“Emasculate him, for starters. Lead him to the door by the nose.”  
  
“Pssh,” Arthur snorted into his glass. He stared at the table, searching for the right words. “She said... she said that she wasn’t _equipped_ to make me happy, Gaius. Now what the fuck does that mean?”  
  
“Interesting choice of words, certainly,” Gaius agreed. “Perhaps she thinks you’re...”  
  
“Thinks I’m what?”  
  
“Of my persuasion.”  
  
Arthur looked at Gaius blankly.  
  
“Of your... _oh_.”  
  
“Right.” Gaius looked slightly miffed, and Arthur wished fervently that he was quicker on the uptake at times like these.  
  
“No! I mean, no. I’ve never...not that there’s anything wrong with that, obviously. I mean to say–”  
  
“Relax, Arthur. You’re a busy man. I doubt you get much time to think about sex at all, much less have any.”  
  
Arthur heaved a heavy sigh.

“Still,” Gaius continued. “Perhaps it’s time to ditch the bactrians and give dromedaries a try.”

“Dromedaries?”

“Yes,” Gaius affirmed. “One hump instead of two, you see.”

Arthur’s head fell to the table with a dull thud.  
  
****  
  
Arthur arrived at his father’s office just as his sister was storming out.

“That man,” she began, “is going to flush _History Team_ down the crapper. The press from this is going to hurt the show. You have to rein him in, Arthur.”

“And how do you expect me to do that?” he asked in exasperation. “It’s all your fault as far as I’m concerned. _History Team_ has swollen his head to such a size he believes he can do whatever he likes with Camelot. His field is Public Policy. He’s not even a proper historian. That bloody show is to blame so don’t go putting this on me.”

Morgana sniffed.

“You should go back to your little soft-core soap drama things,” he went on. “You were good at getting smut past the censors.”

“I still have _Ménage_ _à_ _Cinq_ ,” she said with a shrug. “Besides, I like to dabble. I’m pitching a new game show with Mitch Webb as host."

“The Numberwang tosspot?”

“…plus I’m talking to Matt Berry about the Ron Jeremy project. I finger a lot of pies.”

“That’s one way of putting it, yes.”

“Don’t act all high and mighty. Avalon’s programs fulfill a need,” she explained, tilting her chin defiantly. “We educate and we entertain. We also happen to make shows about the sex our viewers aren’t having.”

“Oh, for— just…stay away from the pseudo-documentary rubbish. Make crap reality tv instead of just flirting with it. Here’s one for you. _Stalkers: Men Who Love Women_.”

“Oh, fuck off,” she said rolling her eyes.

“Will I get paid for that idea? Damn, I should have made you sign a non-disclosure.”

“I’m going to have to fire my own father,” she said with a half-smile. “And I’ll have to replace him, too.”

“Don’t even think about it,” he warned. “Whatever it is you’re thinking, don’t.”

“What about your Gwen? We’re doing our next one about the Plantagenets. She’s some sort of expert, right?

“She writes about the Tudors, Morgana.”

“You tell me who, then. Give me some suggestions.”

“I’m sure David Starkey could use the work,” he suggested helpfully as he walked to the chancellor’s door.

***

Uther gave off a regal air from behind his desk. Since becoming chancellor he had ditched his tweed jackets and begun to wear bespoke three pieces. Arthur still wasn’t used to the authoritative, rather pompous man he’d become over the course of the past 6 months.

“Hello, father.”

“Arthur,” he greeted him gravely. “What can I do for you?”

Arthur hesitated.

“I’ve been getting a lot of complaints from the student body.”

“Yes, well that’s to be expected,” Uther replied dismissively. “But these decisions must be made, and you’ll have to learn that if you’re going to follow in my footsteps someday.”

“Follow in your footsteps?” Arthur repeated.

“As chancellor, of course.”

“It’s a university, father, not a kingdom.” Arthur said, taken aback. “I have no more right to the chancellorship than any other faculty member does.”

“On the contrary,” Uther scoffed. “I’m making you dean of Classics.”

“But we already have a dean!” Arthur exclaimed.

“Kilgarrah is retiring,” his father said. “He was getting daffy.”

Arthur’s gut twisted.

"You and I both know that’s not true,” he countered.

"His teachings did not align with the ideology of this institution,” Uther replied stubbornly.

“His _teachings?_ This is _me_ you’re talking to, not the board. Not your public.”

Uther stood and looked at his son, stone-faced.

“You will accept the decisions I take, and you _will_ be expected to administer further actions on behalf of Camelot."

Arthur felt chilled.

“You’ll be taking on a new doctoral candidate, by the way.”

“I can’t really handle anyone else right now, honestly,” he protested.

“One more won’t make that much of a difference. I’ve had to move people to new departments that best complement their fields of study. Mr Emrys will report to you as a history T.A.”

“His thesis?”

“Oh, something to do with one of the Edwards. Heaven only knows what he was doing in Queer Studies. He’s lucky to be rescued,” he said with a chuckle.

Arthur stared.

****

Arthur was fond of his office.

Scratch that. He bloody loved his office. It was his haven- the place where he could close the doors, turn back the clock and lose himself in time.

Dark oak shelves dominated the paneling along the two longest walls, interrupted only by windows and the door. His desk was the first thing one saw upon entering the room. Stacks of books mushroomed from every available surface, and there was a comfy old leather chesterfield in front of the fireplace. Not that they were allowed to use the fireplaces. Though if he’d had the flue seen to and happened to light merry little blazes over winter breaks, no one needed to know about it. A hefty old walnut armoire desk sat perpendicular to it, and this was where he wrote his Christmas cards each year.

He could happily spend hours there, pretending that Gibbon would be stopping by later for a brandy. Or that Samuel Johnson (while engaged in three-way debate about the ethics of plagiarizing the classics with Arthur and Mr. Boswell) had jerked his cordial over his shoulder, resulting in the stain on the corner of the carpet.

Such a quiet, fanciful spell was exactly what he needed just then.

Pavlovian relaxation set in instantly. Cheered by the atmosphere, he picked up the wastebasket and pushed all the letters into it that were waiting on his desk, walked to the fireplace, dumped them into the grate, opened the flue and struck a match across the stone of the mantel.

“What on earth are you doing?” a voice murmured from behind him.

Arthur, startled, dropping the match onto the carpet.

“Fuck!” he cried, stamping wildly at the flame as the interloper rose to assist.

“Well, that’s definitely not coming out.”

“Who the bloody hell are you and what were you doing on my couch?” Arthur demanded.

The young man gave an apologetic smile, managing to look up at Arthur even though they were roughly the same height.

“Sorry,” he said as he offered his hand to shake. “I’m Merlin. I was told to report to you.”

“Merlin?” Arthur repeated. He regarded the proffered hand dubiously but made no move to take it. “Are you a pop star or do you have a surname as well?”

Arthur wasn’t sure how he could tell, but Merlin definitely rolled his eyes at him with his mind.

“Merlin Emrys, sir,” he replied, now clearly scrutinizing Arthur in a way that made him decidedly uncomfortable. “Chancellor Pendragon assigned me to this department.”

“Ah. Right. And what is your thesis proposal?”

“That Edward II wasn’t murdered.”

“I see, and—wait, what?”

“Along with the obvious examination of his sexuality in a historical context.”

“Which is why you were in Q.S.?”

Merlin nodded.

“But what’s this wasn’t murdered nonsense?” Arthur was perplexed. “No one thinks that.”

Merlin stood up imperceptibly straighter and squared his chin almost defiantly.

“Then perhaps it’s time someone examined the facts, sir.”

“Please, stop calling me sir,” Arthur sighed, suddenly exhausted. “And why were you sleeping on my sofa?”

Merlin winced.

“Yeah, sorry about that. My flight got in this morning and I haven’t really slept yet. I was supposed to have a flat to go to this morning, but my friend, Will, is a fuckwit who can’t be trusted to sign a lease. I came to see you and saw the couch and all the pillows and…sorry.”

“Well, it is very comfortable,” Arthur agreed. “I’ll give you that.”

Merlin looked around the office.

“It’s like stepping into another time in here,” he enthused. “I half expected to wake up in the Georgian era.”

Arthur watched the man’s face light up as he spoke, and found himself smiling.

“One of my favorites.” Arthur sat down and looked at the hearth. “A time a lot like now but with more action.”

“And wigs,” Merlin added gravely.

“Yes,” he replied with a grin. “Mustn’t forget those.”

Merlin took a seat at the other end of the sofa.

“Perhaps if we wore wigs we might take social injustice more seriously.”

“Nah,” Arthur grunted, his head rolling back. “Everything feels the same in a wig.”

“Wear one often, then?” Merlin asked, a twinkle in his voice.

Arthur found the merriness of his demeanor infectious.

“Can you keep a secret?” he asked with mock suspicion.

“Definitely,” Merlin affirmed. “I’m very good at secrets.”

Arthur rose and unlocked the base cupboard of the secretary desk. He began to pull out the stand and then paused. What in the hell was he doing?

“I can’t believe I’m about to show you this. Feel special.”

Ever so gently, he lifted up the stand holding his dark, glossy Charles II style wig.

Merlin gasped.

“It’s gorgeous! Is it real hair?”

Arthur nodded.

“Can I try it on?”

Arthur hesitated.

“I’ve never let anyone _see_ it before, let alone try it on.”

Merlin fixed him with a pleading look.

“Please? I’ll let you do it.”

He was finding Merlin surprisingly difficult to resist. He set the stand on a side table and gently lifted it off.

“It’s heavy,” he warned.

As Arthur raised it to Merlin’s head, Merlin stuck his nose up into the cap and sniffed.

“Just checking it doesn’t stink. Smells great, actually,” he said. “What is it?”

“My natural aroma, I suppose?” Arthur replied, amused. He lowered it onto Merlin’s head then turned him by the shoulders so they both faced the mirror above the mantle.

“Woah,” Merlin breathed.

Arthur simply looked.

Merlin wore a rather beaten up oatmeal colored t-shirt, which was stretched a bit about the neck. 

A slip of clavicle was visible between the long sheets of curls. His face was framed, the color similar to that of his own hair. His cheeks appeared rosier, his eyes darker, his full lips parted and moist.

“Yes, well, we’d better put this back in the cupboard where it belongs,” he said in a rush, lifting it off of Merlin’s head.

Merlin looked at him with obvious curiosity.

“And what else do you keep locked up in there, I wonder?”

Arthur flushed.

“Practically nothing,” he said hurriedly. He thrust a hand forward to shake. “It’s been nice meeting you, but I really must be getting back to work. Leon can find a desk for you somewhere, I’m sure.”

Merlin beamed.

“Hadn’t they told you? I’m to share your office.”

***

Hours after Arthur had reluctantly ensconced Merlin at his beloved secretary desk, he somewhat ironically sought refuge from his own office in the Rising Sun tavern.

At least Merlin seemed to love his office in the same way he did, he consoled himself. Less of a consolation was the fact that for the first time in his life he’d found himself thinking that another man was beautiful. Now there he sat, a mere one pint in, and his thoughts kept drifting back to Merlin’s lips.

His plump, moist, pink parted lips.

“Fuckadoodle-doo,” he remarked to no one.

“Arthur, Arthur, Arthur. You look like you’ve got concussion.”

The voice of Gwaine interrupted his reverie, and for once Arthur was actually grateful of the bugger’s company.

“Do shut up,” he replied, pulling out a chair for Gwaine to sit.

“Excited to have me back yet?” he asked rhetorically as he motioned for another round.

“Back? It’s as though you’d never left,” Arthur replied. “We’re still cleaning up your dust from between the floorboards at Trinovantes House.”

“Racks still in the cellar?”

“Yep. Just shove your bones back in.”

“It’s gonna be a little tight down there,” Gwaine said.

“I’d nearly forgotten what a dirty mind you have,” Arthur said, shaking his head.

“I’ve no idea what you’re talking about,” Gwaine replied breezily. “I’m putting my grad students down there.”

“Oh. How many?”

“Eight.”

“Jesus,” Arthur said sympathetically.

“It’ll be an orgy of archaeology down there.”

“With you in charge I’ve no doubt it will be.”

“Congratulations, by the way, Dean Pendragon,” Gwaine said raising his glass.

Arthur sighed.

“I suppose I’m getting anthropology, too?”

“Sure you are,” Gwaine affirmed.

“My dad put Kilgarrah out to pasture because he told him where to stuff it, I have no doubt. Have you heard anything about where they’re putting soc?” he asked.

“Three guesses.”

Arthur chugged his ale in defeat.

***

Gwaine helped him back to Gaius’s. Arthur blearily and somewhat unsteadily let himself inside, and tried very hard to be quiet as he shuffled upstairs to bed.

  _Sodding women._

  _Sodding fathers._

  _Sodding wigs._

His thoughts were jumbled.

He flipped on the light and began to undress. It was only when he’d ditched his trousers that he saw there was someone already curled up in his bed.

His eyes were met by a long line of milky skin half out from under the sheet, punctuated by a breeze of dark hairs, various freckles, and one rosy nipple.

“I can’t be nearly this drunk,” Arthur said aloud.

Merlin squinted his eyes open.

“Hmphm?”

“I only had five pints,” he protested.

“Only?” Merlin echoed. “Am I dreaming?”

“I have no idea,” Arthur replied.

“Definitely dreaming,” Merlin murmured, turning back over to sleep. “Shut off the light and come to bed, then.”

Arthur agreed that the hallucination had the right idea and complied.

***

He was so comfortable.

His arms wrapped around Viv’s warm, pliant body.

Her neck soft beneath his lips.

Her arse spooned into his hips, ankles entwined.

His cock nestled in the dip between her cheeks, and he slid his hand up to cup her breast.

…

No breast.

It was at this point that Arthur began to wake up and panic.

He carefully disentangled himself from the dark haired body in front of him.

Merlin.

Fuck.

What in the hell was he doing there?

He grabbed a change of clothes and tiptoed down the stairs.

***

He smelled coffee when he came out of the bath.

Gaius was already seated with a mug and the newspaper.

“Morning, Arthur!” he greeted him. “I trust you slept well?”

“Very well, thanks.” He unhooked a mug and sat down, considering how to broach the topic of a Merlin in his bed.

“It occurs to me, Gaius, that I’ve never met your nephew,” he began.

Gaius frowned.

“Haven’t you?”

“Nope,” Arthur replied with a bemused smile.

“Merlin is a doctoral candidate here, actually. He’s doing his thesis on Edward the Second. I expect he’ll be transferred to Classics when he gets back. Which is today, I think.”

“Yesterday, actually,” Arthur corrected.

"Really?” Gaius asked with surprise. “How on earth would you know that?”

Just then Merlin appeared at the top of the stairs.

“Morning, Uncle Gaius!”

Gaius looked back at Arthur apologetically.

“Oh _dear_. I’m terribly sorry.” He turned back to his nephew. “Merlin, what on earth are you doing here? I thought you were moving in with your friend.”

“Will fucked it up,” he explained, grabbing a piece of toast off his uncle’s plate.

“It’s quite alright, Gaius,” Arthur said graciously. “He’ll be sharing my office, as a matter of fact. We met yesterday.”

“We could share my room, too,” Merlin mumbled around his toast.

Gaius regarded Arthur with a skeptical eye.

“Do _you_ mind sharing with Merlin?”

Arthur considered for a moment.

“The bed…” he began.

“I’ll use the cot,” Merlin said quickly.

“Er,” Arthur replied.

“Well, then. I’m glad that’s settled,” Gaius said simply.

***

His first week of classes was a little less of a burden than he’d expected. He was able to assign Merlin to two medieval history classes, so that offset his own addition. That was something. Though, he had yet to sit down with him and actually hear the details of his thesis.

He’d expected that Merlin would be underfoot all the time, but luckily that wasn’t the case. He didn’t even come back to Gaius’s the first night. The following night he discovered Merlin sleeping in a cot across the foot of the bed, which made him laugh out loud and wake him.

“Polish my boots, Merlin,” he whispered.

“Clotpole,” Merlin croaked sleepily.

“It looks like you’re my manservant sleeping like that,” Arthur insisted.

“Shut up and go to sleep, your highness.”

Repeatedly walking into his office to find Merlin wearing the wig was a bit of a shock to the system, of course. The first time he simply let him continue wearing it and said nothing. Merlin never said a word about it, though he did begin calling him _my lord_ and other ridiculous things that for some reason sent a shock straight to his groin.

By Friday, Arthur was getting antsy. It was bad enough that Merlin felt he had the right to keep putting it on, but did he have to look so bloody good wearing it?

“Merlin,” he said carefully. “What do you think you’re doing?”

“Only grading the first batch of essays, your highness.”

He turned around to reveal an anachronistic linen shirt—shirred around the boat neck with a laced v at the front which was wholly undone.

Arthur felt his mouth go dry.

“Your shirt… where did… Oh, just take it off, would you?”

Merlin gave him an odd look.

“The shirt?”

Arthur flushed.

“What? No! The wig, you great numpty.”

“Well, well, well. What have we here?”

Morgana’s voice was not what he needed to hear at that moment.

“I’m Morgana. Arthur’s sister,” she said, offering Merlin her hand.

The idiot kissed it.

“My lady,” he said with a tiny bow.

“Good lord, Arthur. You didn’t tell me you were into role playing.” She looked back to Merlin. “And with such an enthusiastic playmate.”

"Oh, you should have been here earlier to see the others,” Merlin replied utterly straight-faced. “Sir Frances Dashwood took a piss in the corner, and Samuel Johnson gave Alexander Pope a piggy back ride around the office. It was a dream of his I’m glad we could finally help him realize.”

“And who are you, exactly?” she asked laughing.

“I’m Merlin, the king’s manservant,” he said with a nod to Arthur.

“Is that code?” she asked.

“Oh yeah,” Merlin replied.

“Well, now that you’ve had your fun, what do you want?” Arthur asked to distract himself from the swooping sensation in his belly.

“I came to buy you a drink. I require brotherly advice. You’re invited, too,” she said to Merlin.

“Fine,” he agreed, “but Merlin has to join this century first.”

***

By the time they’d reached the pub he’d managed to calm down somewhat, but a drink was still very much in order.  
  
No sooner had Merlin come back with their pints than Gwaine showed up and plopped himself down between Arthur and Morgana.  
  
“Well, introduce us.” Gwaine cut straight to the point. Arthur had to give him that.

“Morgana, Merlin. This is Gwaine. He likes digging in the garden and fedoras,” he explained sardonically.

“You’re an archaeologist?” Morgana asked, her interest piqued.

“S’right,” he replied, knocking back his lager.

“What’s your area, then?”

“Oh, you know,” he said with a wave of his glass. “Old shit. What comes before the Romans?”

“Iron Age?” she ventured.

“Right, like that but it’s got more yellow in it. Starts with a b I think.”

“Bronze? You’re not much of an academic, are you?” she asked.

“I suppose not.”

“He’s not actually that stupid,” Arthur muttered. “Though why I’m telling you that I’ve no idea.”

“He’s not much of an historian,” Merlin said to Gwaine, pointing a sideways finger at Arthur.

“Is that so, Merlin?” Arthur asked with a squint.

“Absolutely,” he affirmed. “Complete turniphead.”

“Keep talking, Merlin. You’ll be grading all the papers.”

“He relies on me completely.”

Gwaine laughed.

“So you’re his new T.A.,” he said to Merlin. “And you must be his lovely sister. What exactly are you drinking there?”

“Bishop’s Bits.”

Arthur perked up. “Yeah? I’ll bet you don’t know which Bishop.”  
  
“What do you mean? It’s not real,” Merlin scoffed. “There was never actually a bishop, it’s just a silly pub name or something.”  
  
“And there you are, thinking you know so much.”  
  
“Go on. Tell us,” Merlin prodded.  
  
“Just...just give me a moment, I’m enjoying this,” Arthur replied, grinning.  
  
“Please?” seconded Morgana. Arthur took pity on them and cleared his throat dramatically.  
  
“The bishop in question was the Bishop of Chufnell. You know, the same Chufnell which later became a pocket borough in Midsomer for the Duke of Sidcup’s cronies?”  
  
“I already know where Chufnell is,” Merlin replied with an eye roll.  
  
“Hmph. Well, when England split from the church, the Bishop didn’t want to be disloyal to the Pope. He refused the king’s command to turn over all church property to the crown.” He paused for effect.  
  
“Go on.”  
  
“When Henry’s men came to make their demands with force, the Bishop still refused, barricading himself inside the nave. So they set fire to the doors to get inside. The locals helped because Chufnell was a Lollard stronghold and they had no love for the Bishop. Rumour had it that he exchanged indulgences for the virginity of young women. Who knows. Anyway, when they got to him they had to bash him over the head to get him to stop kicking and biting.”  
  
“They bashed the bishop?” Gwaine snorted.  
  
“Yes! So they arrested him and hanged him the very next day for treason, etc. Now, do you know where a hand of glory comes from?”

“S’just a dried out hand, yeah?” asked Gwaine.

“But they’re supposed to be magical.” Merlin added.

“That’s right,” Arthur continued. “Well, the executioner knew a good thing when he saw it and kept the Bishops hands. They sold immediately. As did the feet. Also some other parts. The bits in question were purchased by the local brewer’s apprentice. He opened a pub in Badger’s Drift and hung the Bits of Glory above the bar for luck...after they’d, er, dried up a bit. Business was so good that he named his best bitter after them. And that, my dear Merlin, is the story of the Bishop’s Bits.”

“Yes, but are they still there?” Morgana demanded.

“I haven’t the foggiest,” Arthur said with a shrug.

“To the storyteller,” Gwaine said, raising his glass.  
  
Arthur did a tiny mock bow and sat back, taking a long pull of his drink.  
  
Merlin considered him for a moment, smiling. “I suppose you’re not a complete simpleton, are you?”  
  
Arthur feigned offense, but couldn’t keep a straight face.  
  
“You’re rather intelligent, yourself, Merlin. For a…”

“For a what?” Merlin interrupted.

“For a Blandings man. Thickest college at Camelot.”  
  
Merlin choked on his beer.

“My turn!” Gwaine practically shouted. “Picture this,” he began. “There was a brave young knight, eager to prove himself, yeah? And one Christmas everyone’s having a party in the great hall when in rides this enormous green man on an enormous green horse.”

“I’m fairly sure I know this one,” Morgana said with suspicion.

“This huge bloke challenges the king to have a go at him with his axe on the condition that he gets to have a go back in a year. The young knight, because he’s so brilliant, jumps up and says ‘King, I’ve got this.” He chops the bloke’s head clean off, and everyone’s impressed at the knight’s manliness and all the women want to shag him. But oh wait! The bloke picks up his head, says ‘See you in a year, mate,’ and rides away.

“This is just Sir Gawain and the Green Knight,” Merlin protested.

“Hang in there, T.A., I haven’t gotten to the hot sex yet.”

“But he doesn’t have sex with Lady Bertilak. That’s a major plot point,” Arthur said.

“No, not with her,” Gwaine said, shaking his head. “With Lord Bertilak.”

Arthur raised his eyebrows.

“Oh,” said Merlin. “Then by all means, please continue.”

The drinks must have been starting to affect him, because Arthur could swear that Merlin was giving him the same sort of shy, surreptitious glances that he’d caught some of his female students making.

And for some reason that realization caused him to break into an enormous grin. He was having a hard time paying attention to the story.

“And then, Gawain dared Lord Bertilak to take it off of him with his teeth.”

“I’m pretty sure this isn’t how the story goes,” Morgana observed. “But you’re a hell of a storyteller. And that’s a hell of a beard.”

“I look great without a shirt, too,” Gwaine agreed.

“Have you ever thought about being on television?”

Arthur rolled his eyes.

“Back in a sec,” Merlin said, heading for the loo.

Morgana and Gwaine pounced.

“So. You bent now?” Gwaine asked with brutal frankness.

Arthur choked.

“You two were definitely flirting,” Morgana said.

“Yeah, you’re in there, mate.”

He thought for a moment.

“Say I _were_. Interested, I mean. I don’t even know for sure that he’s gay.”

“Oh, he’s interested,” Gwaine confirmed.

“Or that _I_ am,” he went on.

“Really, Arthur,” Morgana said in what she must have thought was a soothing tone. “He looks at you like you might have a golden ticket under your clothes.”

“Or be made of chocolate,” Gwaine seconded.

“I’m glad you’re having this epiphany at last,” she continued. “It’s about bloody time.”

“I’m sure Arthur was just confused because he’s nearly as attractive as me,” Gwaine explained. "Women don’t so much throw themselves at you so much as ballistically launch themselves.”

“I’ve never launched myself at anyone,” Morgana protested.

“I’m just saying he’s probably never had to look for a girlfriend in the first place, am I right?”

“That’s true. He’s hardwired for monogamy, too, so he’s never had a wandering eye. Once he starts dating someone they’re suddenly in a relationship.”

“Would you two stop discussing my love life?” Arthur interrupted testily.

“What did I miss?” Merlin asked, seating himself.

***

Morgana and Gwaine seemed to silently agree to fuck off, though together, which worried him.

Still.

Merlin appeared in no hurry to leave.

“You’ve still not explained your thesis proposal,” he said. “What makes you think Edward II wasn’t murdered?”

“Aside from the Fieschi Letter?”

“Well, yes. I’d hope that you’d have more to base your argument on.”

Merlin took a deep breath.

“Okay. I’ll begin with a question. How do you know that he was murdered?”

Arthur let out an amused huff.

“Every account, official and unofficial, agrees that he was killed by Mortimer.”

“Fine. So how did everyone know he was dead?”

“Lord Berkeley wrote Edward III to inform him.”

“So basically, every written source goes back to Edward III’s announcement, which came from what someone wrote him.”

“Yes, but he was buried. They had his body, Merlin.”

“Covered in cerecloth and tucked into a coffin. It could have been anybody. _Any_ body.”

“Well it was certainly somebody,” Arthur replied.

“And then why would Berkeley deny knowing of his death years later? I mean, imagine if this were an actual murder case. When you apply logic to the entire situation it becomes clear that the record of his murder is based on practically nothing.”

Arthur considered this.

“Well, based on what you say I’d consider it worthy of investigation.”

Really?” Merlin said, surprised

“Why not?” he asked.

“It’s just, I figured people would take me for a crackpot. Thought I’d slide in under the radar by doing it in queer studies.”

“Oh.” Arthur said uncertainly. “So you didn’t have any other interest in the program?”

“If you’re asking if I’m into blokes the answer’s yes,” Merlin replied quickly before draining his glass in one go. “Woah!” he exclaimed suddenly, catching sight of the window.

Arthur looked.

“We can’t have been here so long that it’s gone dark already?”

Merlin peered through the glass. “I think it’s going to storm.” His voice held a trace of excitement. “The sky looks absolutely pregnant.”  
  
Arthur gave an involuntary shiver.  
  
“Do you want to try to get home before it starts?”  
  
“Yes, perhaps we’d better. It’s almost four o’clock as it is,” Merlin agreed.  
  
They walked out into the street together. The wind began whipping around Merlin’s hair. Arthur had the almost irresistible urge to press his hand to Merlin’s forehead and smooth it away. It was making his hand shake not to just reach up and do it.  
  
They made it half a mile down the lane when the drops began to fall...hard.  
  
“Follow me!” Arthur cried over the pounding, and he grabbed Merlin’s hand and ran for the little covered shelter set just off the road.  
  
Once out of the downpour, they just stood there...soaked, panting, staring at one another as the thunder rumbled. Arthur could feel the warmth of Merlin’s breath make its way across the foot of distance dividing them. The chills ran up and down his body as he stared at the source...Merlin’s lips. They were pink and firm and full. They looked utterly soft, and Arthur’s thoughts began to trip over themselves in a devilish confusion.  
  
What was happening to him?  
  
He thought it best to say something.

“You, er… you actually polished my boots the other day.”

“Yeah,” Merlin replied.

“You didn’t have to do that, you know. I was only joking.”

“It was no trouble.”  
  
“But you didn’t have to do that,” Arthur argued. “You’re not actually my servant. I can’t make you do whatever I want.”  
  
“Yeah, you can,” Merlin replied softly.  
  
Arthur couldn’t force his head to move. He knew if he did that something big, Something Very Big was going to happen, and he wasn’t entirely sure he was ready for it.  
  
“We’re soaked,” Arthur whispered, stepping back. “We should call for a cab.”

****

The next week passed in a lust-addled haze of sexual tension so thick you could slice it and serve it on crostini.  
  
He did everything he could not to go rub his hands all over Merlin. Even looking at him for too long felt incredibly risky. He couldn’t help himself, though.  
  
Plus which, he was simply not used to having this much adrenaline pumping through his body with such painful regularity.

Nothing had even happened.

Perhaps Merlin felt rejected, or was trying to spare him taking the decision, but he still curled up night after night on the cot at the end of the bed.

It was driving Arthur completely fuck faced bonkers.

Something had to give.

On Saturday night he took advantage of the fact that Gaius was out. He didn’t take a change of clothes to the bath, and walked back with a towel instead.

Merlin, who was already on his cot reading, looked up with a surprised double-take.

“Merlin,” Arthur said impatiently. “Get off your lazy arse and help me.”

“With what?” Merlin asked, taken aback.

“Honestly,” he went on. “You really are the worst manservant I have ever had. I should think it would be obvious.”

Arthur let himself drip all over the floor.

Merlin’s eyes widened in surprise.

“Dry me, you hopeless moron.”

“Oh. Right! Yes. I mean yes, sire.” Merlin put his book down and rose. “If that’s what you want.”

He stood in front of Arthur and carefully removed the towel.

Arthur was naked. Merlin didn’t bat an eyelash as he began to dry him.

“Did you have a good hunt today, your highness?”

Lord, he really immersed himself in the role, Arthur thought nervously.

“Er…yes. We shot a boar.”

Merlin applied exactly the right pressure as he rubbed the towel around his hair.

“That should make the cooks happy.”

He brought the towel down Arthur’s back, hands massaging through the terrycloth.

“Indeed.”

“You really should let me help you with your bath next time, sire,” Merlin said, bringing his towel wrapped hand between his cheeks far more slowly than necessary, then carrying on down the backs of his legs.

Arthur exhaled a shaky breath.

“If you must,” he said carefully.

Merlin gently turned him around by his shoulders and began drying his neck and chest.

“There’s nothing like having someone else do it for you,” he explained, moving to Arthur’s legs and working his way up.

Arthur was completely hard. Merlin’s hands brought the towel closer and closer.

“I’ll help you,” he said softly, his mouth close to Arthur’s ear as he prodded Arthur’s legs further apart with his knee.

“Okay,” Arthur breathed.

Merlin brought the towel between his thighs and lightly but meticulously around his balls.

“I’ll be thorough, sire,” he said in a low voice as he pulled the towel up Arthur’s length.

Arthur gasped.

“Next time, then,” he panted, resting his forehead on Merlin’s shoulder. “You do it.”

“As you wish, your highness,” Merlin agreed. “Do you need help dressing, or may I go to bed now?”

Arthur was desperately confused. He wasn’t entirely sure what just happened.

“That will be all for now,” he managed.

Merlin gave a little nod, laid the towel on the bed, and climbed back into his cot. 

Arthur grabbed it and a pair of underwear and went straight back to the bathroom.

He had no idea what just happened. 

***

The next morning, Merlin acted as though nothing had happened. In fact, he left right after breakfast claiming he needed to run some errands.

Arthur didn’t know what to make of it.

Then Uther called, asking to meet with him.

“You seem more out of sorts than usual,” Gaius observed over his coffee.

“My father wants to see me,” he said.

“Is that bad?”

“In his _office_ ,” Arthur clarified.

“Ah.”

“Gaius, it’s Sunday.”

“Yes,” he agreed. “Yes, it is.”

****

Arthur knocked on the door with trepidation.

“Enter,” Uther called imperiously.

“You wanted to see me, father?”

“Please, take a seat,” he replied, gesturing to a chair. “As you know, the restructuring has been going mostly smoothly, but there are a few bumps that need to be smoothed out before we can really consider the task completed.”

“Such as?” Arthur prompted.

“We’re eliminating Nimueh's position,” he explained.

Arthur’s jaw dropped.

“But she holds my mother’s chair!” he said in astonishment. “She’s the backbone of the Women’s Studies major!”

“Yes, and speaking of all that queer theory, gender studies nonsense, those course offerings will be eliminated next semester, as well. The whole field is self-indulgent twaddle.”

Arthur fumed. Who did he think he was?

“My mother taught that self-indulgent twaddle,” Arthur said quietly.

He left. There was nothing more he could say without regretting it.

****

Merlin barged into Arthur’s office without even knocking.  
  
“Arthur.”  
  
Arthur momentarily panicked at his tone.

“I’ve been looking all over for you,” he continued, clearly upset. “Did you know your dad wants to integrate Hengist College into the University?”

“He _what?”_

“That’s right!” Merlin was fuming. “He completely cuts Nimueh’s school claiming he needs the space and now he’s absorbing _another college_? Who does he think he is? Hitler??”

“Oh, _god_ , I have no fucking idea what’s going on in his head. He’s just told me he’s cutting pretty much everything gender related from the curriculum.” He scrubbed his face with his hands but it did nothing to make the scene change.

“What are you going to do?” Merlin demanded.

“How the bloody fuck should I know?” Arthur said testily. “Why does everyone pretend I’m capable of shepherding him about?”

“Hengist College, Arthur. Do you know what that place is?”

“I know,” he said, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“It’s notorious. They banned gay campus organizations. There are practically no Asian people, let alone any other minorities. All the women are _blonde, Arthur_.”

“I’m blonde,” he protested.

“You know what I mean. Wagner would wet his pants with joy.”

“Then couldn’t this be an opportunity to change it for the better?”

“Do you think that’s what your father intends to do?” Merlin spit. “What do you think is really going to happen?”

“Christ, I don’t know! Just stop yelling at me like I have any kind of control over it!” Arthur practically shouted.

Merlin appeared to bite back whatever he was going to say next and remained quiet for a moment.

“I’m just asking you to stand up to him,” he finally said. “Stand up for us.”

Arthur felt his anxiety pop and deflate.

“He’s not just eliminating the department, Merlin. He’s eliminating the Tintagel Chair of Women’s Studies.”

“He can do that?” Merlin asked in bewilderment.

“It was established for my mother,” he explained sadly.

“Oh, _Arthur_. I'm so sorry, I had no idea.”

Arthur placed his hands on Merlin’s shoulders and sought his eyes.

“I’m the one who should be apologising,” he said. “Do you understand what I’m saying to you? You’re right.”

Uncertainty, pity and hope warred in Merlin’s face.

“What will you do?”

An idea that niggled at the edge of his brain then spilled over the horizon in a rush.

“I’ll challenge him to a duel.”

Merlin stared at him in bewilderment.

“A _duel?_ ” Are you mad?”

“A duel of words,” Arthur clarified. “Of ideas.”

“You mean…”

“That’s right. A public debate.”

***

When the governing council convened three days later for its monthly session, Arthur was there in his capacity as Dean of Classics.

“I hereby call the September session to order.”

Uther led the meeting through its usual paces, and when finally new items could be brought forth Arthur spoke.

“I would like to propose a motion,” he said, rising from his chair.

“Professor Pendragon, you are not a member of this council,” Uther said with a frown.

“I move that he be allowed to speak,” Professor Annis, Dean of the Arts, interrupted.

Uther glared at her.

"Seconded," piped Gaius. Arthur had never loved him more.

“Well?” she continued. “Will you call for a vote or shall I?”

He looked like he’d enjoy nothing less, but did so nonetheless.

“All in favor of granting the visitor permission to speak?”

The ayes clearly had it.

“All those opposed?”

Silence reigned.

“Very well, then, Professor Pendragon. You may speak,” he prompted.

Arthur walked to the opposite end of the long ovular conference table that they were all seated around.

“I challenge Uther Pendragon to a debate with regard to the future of the University of Camelot.”

A shocked silence met his ears.

“Well,” a gravely old voice said from the sidelines. “I, for one, am very interested to see this.” Kilgarrah nodded his approval from where he was seated by Merlin.

Arthur took a deep breath.

***

“And so, I believe that this university is in grave danger of becoming the very opposite of that to which we strive—a source of light, liberty and learning. We must not allow learning to be cast into the mire and be trodden down by a well-meaning oppressor.”

“You have just enough learning to misquote,” Uther scoffed. “And you seem to think that this university is a democratic state. It is most assuredly not. I took over a Camelot whose disciplines were contrived, and whose lecturers had for many years given up on the pretence of teaching. Separating the wheat from the chaff was long overdue.”

“So you say. But I put to you that every student should be able to follow his own liberty. Every student must be able to put his or her sincere desire to learn to whatever area of study ignites passion.”

“Sincerity is no excuse for failure.” Uther said silkily. “I’m sure some people are very sincere when they’re spending 30 hours a week studying why some men choose to wear pink undergarments but that doesn’t mean it will make one whit of difference. The world is a brutal place. A place which will put out the stars in their eyes with its filthy fingers.”

Arthur saw his father’s jaw begin to shake.

“Then it is our responsibility to make the world a better place by all the means at our disposal,” he argued. “The social sciences promote cultural understanding. To ignore the very disciplines which teach us how to help each other indicates nothing but that we do not believe our fellow man to be worthy of our regard. My mother believed that—”

“You’re right,” Uther interrupted. “None of those people are worth it. Our attempts to help them do nothing. Studying them does nothing to change that. They murder each other and fight each other and destroy each other,” he spat. They treat their fellows as the very excrement they choose to live in. They’re not worth our efforts _or_ our sacrifices.”

Gasps erupted throughout the hall.

Arthur was stunned.

“It took her,” Uther said sadly. “It took her from me and it will never, ever bring her back.”

***

“Your mother was scarcely two months pregnant when she went to Somalia.”

They sat alone in Uther’s office, but this time Uther sat beside him.

“Neither of us realized at the time. It shouldn’t have even mattered, really. She was only supposed to be there for five weeks. It was for a study she was conducting. She wanted to interview women who’d been subjected to…well, you know what they do there.

“Two months later their truck was ambushed by brigands. Nimueh and the driver managed to escape, but your mother was taken. Barre had just fallen, and things began to deteriorate quickly. They held her for four months before releasing her. They dumped her by the side of the road leading into Hargeisa. She’d been… hurt. Aid workers arranged for her to be airlifted to an American base in Djibouti. They were able to save you before she died.”

“Why did you never tell me this?”

“I couldn’t really say,” Uther confessed.

Arthur understood. Sort of.

Perhaps it was easier to dismantle her memory piece by piece than to live with it forever.

“I’m stepping down as chancellor,” he continued. “No doubt they’ll install Annis.”

“Are you sure that’s what you want?” Arthur asked. “It’s not too late to walk back in there and put everything back the way it was.”

Uther nodded.

“There’s a place in Germany Gaius recommends. I think I’d like to spend some time there. Play a bit of chess. That sort of thing.”

Arthur took his father’s hand. A rest did seem like the best thing under the circumstances.

“If that’s what you really want.”

***

Arthur walked around the campus for hours before he found himself at his office door.

He began to turn the knob then stopped.

What if he walked in and it didn’t work? If he went inside and it didn’t soothe him did that mean it would never be the same again?

The door opened abruptly and there was Merlin’s face. His beautiful face.

“Well?” he said, grabbing Arthur’s hand and dragging him to the sofa. “Tell me everything.”

Arthur sat and rubbed his eyes with scratchy fingers.

“He told me how my mother died.”

Merlin said nothing, but wrapped an arm around his shoulders.

“All this time he’s grieved in silence. It broke his heart.”

“How is he now?” Merlin asked simply.

“I’m not sure,” Arthur admitted. “He seems at peace with what happened today. Gaius is sending him somewhere to rest.”

He felt Merlin’s lips on his cheek, and a strange, half-strangled sob escaped him. They reached for each other and locked their arms around each other as if it were a test of strength.

Perhaps it was.

“Knock, knock!”

Morgana’s voice floated in before her.

They reluctantly broke apart.

“There you are,” she said as she walked inside. “I wanted to check you were alright.”

“I am, yeah,” he affirmed with a small smile.

He was surprised to find that he meant it.

“I’m glad.” She smiled at him. “Oh, before I forget! I found my new host for History Team.”

“Really?” Merlin asked. “Who?”

Morgana smiled.

“Gwaine. He’s made to be in front of a camera.”

“Shocked,” Arthur replied laconically.

“Come on, then. He’ll explain Annis’ plans for Camelot. Drinks are on me.

Arthur looked at Merlin as he spoke..

“That's very thoughtful of you, Morgana, but I think I’d rather go home if you don’t mind.”

***

Merlin touched him like he'd never had sex before. Perhaps he hadn't. He'd have to ask.  
  
"I've wished for so fucking long to be able to touch you," Merlin sighed into Arthur's ear between licks and nibbles.  
  
He plucked open Arthur's belt and went about the business of undressing him. Steam rose off the bathwater, and Arthur felt certain that it did not get any better than this. The slide of Merlin’s hands up his back as he guided him into the tub was comfort itself.

Merlin washed him carefully, massaging the shampoo into his scalp with strong fingers.

“Didn’t I say this was better?” he asked.

He dried Arthur with the same care, but this time was different. This time he felt how the flats of their chests lay against each other. The tickle of another man's hair on his stomach. The way the silky plump of Merlin’s lower lip felt when sucked between his teeth.  
  
Merlin’s hardness pressing up against him.

"Help me get you out of these bloody jeans," Arthur said frantically. His fingers were useless, it seemed.  
  
Merlin stripped off quickly and pushed Arthur down onto the edge of the bed then dropped to his knees.

“Alright?” he asked.

Arthur nodded vehemently.

The first slide of Merlin’s tongue against the head of his cock sent him reeling.  
  
Arthur gasped. "Do that again!"  
  
Merlin took him all the way into his mouth as far as he could go. Arthur couldn't seem to help the involuntary thrusts he was making, and Merlin encouraged him to go with it. Arthur fucked his mouth, Merlin’s wandering fingers dipping down into his cleft with promise.  
  
Arthur came in his mouth quickly, and was surprised to feel the warm splashes hitting his calf.

Merlin suckled his softening cock until Arthur had to practically push him off. Merlin’s red, spit slick mouth was without a doubt, the hottest thing that Arthur had ever seen. Ever.  
  
"Fuck _me_ ," he breathed.

“Whatever you say, your highness,” Merlin panted.

Arthur smiled. 

“I say stay a while. And I will have _you_.”

_fin_

**Author's Note:**

> The Fieschi Letter is a real thing, and Merlin's thesis is based on the work of historian Ian Mortimer.


End file.
